


Life of Harry Potter

by ImmortalAcorn



Series: Life of Harry Potter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Drabbles, Explicit Language, Hurt, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV First Person, POV Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, Resolved Sexual Tension, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slice of Life, Swearing, read between the lines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-08-04 02:05:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 13,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16337690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImmortalAcorn/pseuds/ImmortalAcorn
Summary: Draco Malfoy left England several years ago.Harry didn't think about him or that last night for years, either.Until he sees him in London. And then again and again.He swears he isn't going to fall into their old routine. No matter how much he wants to.





	1. Average

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again!  
> The following story is continuation of series [Memories of Draco Malfoy](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1127357). I decided to post this as a multi-chaptered story, just because it will make more sense. If you read the series, then the style is similar, only from a perspective of different character - so slightly different tone.  
> You don't have to read the series for this to make sense. There are only some fleeting mentions.  
> I hope you enjoy!

I know I stare.

I can’t help it.

He‘s gorgeous and he‘s looking right back at me.

He sways his hips towards me, takes my hands and then I am dancing.

We are dancing.

I feel his hard muscles under my palms, his warm skin through the thin material of his shirt.

'What’s your name?' he asks me, his voice barely loud enough through the pounding music.

'Adam' I say.

I don’t like his voice much. It's weirdly squeaky.

But that’s all right, I don’t plan to talk. 

I don’t even like dancing.

I came, only because the whole day sucked.

'I’m Mike,' he leans in.

'Great,' I don't like his name either.

Well, whatever.

I honestly don’t care about any of it, we’re not getting married.

I allow a little more dancing and groping and then I’m dragging him outside.

‘You look familiar,' he tilts his head.

My hair is long and falling down my face. 'Yeah, people keep saying that,' I respond as I start unbuttoning my jeans.

He looks down and licks his lips.

He really has great lips, full and soft looking.

He kneels before me and grins. His teeth are perfectly straight and white, I suspect they’re fake.

'Wow, you're big,' he fake gasps and finally leans forward and takes me in his mouth.

The whole experience is rather disappointing. Too much of those flawless teeth.

Fuck, I expected something better.

At least I don't need to listen to his voice as he’s bobbing his head up and down.

I thrust my hips forward, he doesn‘t seem to mind, judging by his moans.

I come and it’s a relief, but still. Average blow job at best.

He spits out and stands up.

I can see he's hard under those tight jeans.

'Your turn, handsome,' he leers and rubs himself.

Well, I'm not getting down for him.

I open his jeans and pull them roughly down his thighs.

'Yes,' he moans when I put my hand around him.

I can smell his breath, alcohol and sugar.

He is loud. I don't like the sounds coming out from him.

‘Go faster, oh, you’re so good, I want...’

I put my hand on his mouth. ‘Shh, enjoy it.’

Jesus, he licks my palm and mumbles something incomprehensible.

But I finish him off. Because it’s a decent thing to do.

He whines at the end.

I put my hand down, it’s still wet from his tongue so I wipe it on his shirt.

His lips are coming closer to mine. I turn my head and he ends up kissing my hair.

'Weird,' he says and leans back in.

I cup his cheek and pat it

He looks at me, annoyed.

'Well, thank you, it was great,' I say as I close the zipper and leave.

'Hey,' he shouts after me but I don't hear the rest.

I apparate at the corner.

At home, I feel unsatisfied.

I’ll have to choose better next time.

Or not choose at all.


	2. Lonely

‘How was the date?’ Hermione asks, sitting opposite me in the armchair.

‘It was good,’ I say as I let Rose bounce on my knees.

‘Yes? So are you going to ask her out again?’ she questions with hope in her voice.

‘I don’t think so,’ I answer, smiling down at the girl.

I asked her out, because Hermione kept nagging me about my unhealthy lifestyle.

We went to dinner and then had sex at her place.

It was nice, but not happening again.

‘Why not?’ she sighs.

‘She fawned over me the whole evening.’

‘Did you sleep with her?’

‘Yes,’ I tell her. I didn’t mind the worship then.

‘Harry! That’s exactly what I keep telling you is not healthy,’ she admonishes.

‘Well, it seems pretty healthy to me,’ I say, grinning at her.

She sighs again.

I honestly don’t know what the big deal is.

I’m not hurting anyone and she should be happy it’s always with an enthusiastic consent.

It used to bother me, people wanting me only for my name.

It doesn’t anymore.

More and more I date without changing my face.

Sometimes it’s nice to listen to someone praising me and telling me how much they want me.

I know it’s not real, but I don’t care.

I don’t want real.

‘It’s been more than three years Harry, I think it’s time you move on,’ she suggests.

I stiffen. ‘I thought I did.’

‘This is not moving on, it’s standing in one place because _that_ relationship wasn’t healthy.’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ I say, because I know it’s not. I keep moving on.

And it was hardly a relationship. Affair, at best.

‘Oh please, Harry...’

‘No Hermione,’ I interrupt her, ‘it’s my life and I’ll do as I please. Even if you don’t like it.’

She is silent for a while. ‘You are right, of course. I’m sorry.’

She doesn’t seem like she is.

I start tickling Rose. She laughs and squirms and I love her so much. She looks just like Hermione, except the ginger hair.

‘No, no, stop!’ she screams and waves her little arms around. ‘Uncle Harry!’ she wheezes and I put her down, laughing with her.

She jumps toward Hermione. ‘Thanks, now she won’t fall asleep.’ She takes her hand and stands up. ‘Well, we’ll be going. Say goodbye, Rose.’

Rose waves her hand at me. ‘Goodbye Rose!’

I wave back. ‘Goodbye, Rose,’ I crouch and kiss the top of her head. ‘Say hi to Ron from me, yeah?’ I tell Hermione.

‘I will,’ she hugs me. ‘And Harry...’

‘No, Hermione, stop.’

‘Oh my god, I was going to say goodnight,’ she quirks her eyebrow and grins.

‘Right. Goodnight,’ I kiss her cheek and watch them leave through the floo.

I fall asleep alone.

The only company my memories and dreams.


	3. Confusing

My heart is beating so loud I think everyone can hear it.

I feel like throwing up for some reason.

She is saying something. I can’t hear it,  be cause there’s a fog clouding my brain.

I can not _stop_ looking, even though he’s long gone.

I keep staring at the window.

I am sure it was him. 

I’d be able to recognize him anywhere.

He was just outside, passing by.  I n London. 

I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know if I should do anything at all.

I hate what I feel. 

I hate, what even his passing shadow makes me feel.

‘Harry. Harry!’ I hear my name.

I turn my head and see my date. ‘Ye ah? ’ 

‘Are you even listening to me?’ she smiles.

‘No,’ I blurt because that’s the truth. I wasn’t listening to her before, either.

‘Oh, okay, I was just saying...’

‘You know what, I want to leave,’ I halt her speech. 

She isn’t bothered by my rudeness. Not at all.

‘Yes, let’s leave,’ she says, enthusiastic.

I know what she thinks, but it’s not happening tonight.

I pu t some pounds on a table and practically run from the restaurant.

She runs after me, laughing.

She’s apparently  not the smartest.

I  stand outside, looking around frantically.

It’s no use, the street is huge and crowded.

He’s long gone, I know. 

God, she keeps chattering and  sneaking her arm around mine.

I hold her hand and drop it down  to her side .

‘Listen,’ I say as calm as possible, ‘it was lovely, but I really need to go.’

‘But I thought we would… you know,’ she tilts her head.

‘No, we won't.’

‘What about some other time?’ she asks and strokes my arm suggestively.

My god!

I step away. ‘No. Not tonight or any other  time . Good night.’

‘But...’ I don’t hear the rest as I start walking away. 

She walks behind me for a while, still  babbling.

She’s annoying beyond measure, so I send a discreet Confundo her way. The silence among the street noise is truly heavenly.

I don’t know where I’m going.

I’m just walking around, looking, to no avail.

I don’t even know why. 

What am I doing?

Maybe I’m mistaken and it wasn’t him.

Maybe he doesn’t look like he used to.

Yes. I must be wrong.

I hope I am.

Because no matter what everyone else says, I did move on.

I did.

And I don’t want to fall back in.


	4. Pathetic

I’m leafing through his file that I stole today, because I didn’t want anyone seeing me read it.

Because he got into my head.

Again.

There are places listed where he’s been so far. He’s got a Trace on him.

I haven’t read it for two years.

Yet here I am, being pathetic.

He really keeps moving.

Places all over the world. But none in Europe.

Except London. One year ago, in winter.

And yesterday.

Jesus, I’m stupid.

It was Lucius’ funeral two days ago.

I look at his photo.

It’s the one from the trials, where he looks ashen. There’s no emotion in his face.

No anger or fear. Nothing.

I wonder what he looks like now.

If he’s grief-stricken. If he’s annoyed or frustrated. If he smiles or laughs.

I wonder if he found what he wanted.

I wonder if he’s happy overall.

I wonder if he thinks about me.

No.

I shut the folder and just sit there. I stare at the fire.

I don’t want to think about it again. I was doing so well. But I had to go and ruin it.

Doesn’t matter now, I guess.

 _I’m not happy here,_ he said that last night.

I wanted him to stay, but I couldn’t ask him to.

Because when I looked at him, I saw it.

I saw the despair.

I suppose I didn’t want to see it before.

The dark circles under his eyes, creases on his forehead, his pale skin. The way he walked, all straight and always aware. The anger. He let it slip once that he didn’t dream anymore.

 _Stay here, with me,_ I wanted to say.

I said goodbye instead.

I wish I could forget it all.

My life would be easier then.

At the same time, I want to remember everything.

The good and the bad.

In my head I’m there, knocking on his door.

Waiting for him to open.

In my head, he looks carefree.

I look at the file as it glows and fades immediately.

I open it and see.

He left.

Again.

 


	5. Scary

How is it Christmas already?

It was summer the other day, now there are festive lights in the streets.

I wonder about this as I sip eggnog at the Ministry Christmas Gala for … I don’t know what.

Of course I’m here. I’m always at these things.

Apparently, it wouldn’t look good if I didn’t participate in the name of orphans or elderly or ill.

But I’d rather do things anonymously.

I don’t need this kind of praise and attention. I hate it.

He’s standing with Parkinson, talking to some people. Looking stiff.

I try not to wonder about him.

I try not to look in his direction.

I try not to stare.

I try _really_ hard.

But not enough, because I’m still standing here, not leaving.

I was shocked when I saw him.

So shocked that I walked into an older witch and almost knocked her down.

I’m positive he saw me. I caught him turning his head away, just as I looked at him.

He looks just as he did before. Only his hair is shorter.

He looks good.

And  uncomfortable and annoyed at the moment, walking away.

I keep staring and so I don’t miss his eyes on me.

I can’t move.

I want to, but I can’t.

I want to follow him, but I’m scared of what I’d do.

I’m scared, because I know what I _want_ to do.

I’m scared, because I don’t think _he_ wants it too.

So I just stay still, gripping the glass.

I keep watching the door.

He doesn’t come back.

 

  


  



	6. Intense

I’m officially going mad. . . 

Because who the fuck  does what I do?

A lunatic, that’s who.

I made a copy of his file, which is now permanently hidden in my desk drawer.

Sometimes I glimpse into it. Just to see...

And  in those moments I wish he never c a me back.

Because he makes me do things I haven’t done for years.

He makes me think of him.

_ He  _ makes me crazy.

So that’s how I know he's here.

That’s why I’m currently following him  and Parkinson  under the Disillusionment charm through London streets.

I saw him earlier in the day, leaving Diagon Alley through the Leaky, head down.

I paid for the food and went after him outside, where he was joined by her.

And then I started stalking them.

I just want to know what he’s up to. Why is he here so often all of a sudden, almost every six months?

It’s just strange, that’s all.

Yeah, I’m lying to myself. But it’s easier than the truth.

They are walking inside some bar.

I can hear the music coming out.

I stand near the entrance and suddenly, I don’t know what to do next.

I have a strong urge to change my face. Somehow, it feels wrong though.

So I don’t.

After much deliberation, I step inside and am blinded by lights.

I can’t see them.

I go to the bar  and sit.

The room is crowded, people are dancing to the loud music or sitting in booths and drinking.

That’s where I notice them. At a table surrounded by people.

I sit and stare.

This is possibly one of my least proud moments.

I’m thankful for the crowd and the shield it creates.

Suddenly he’s standing up, smiling at a woman, starting to dance with her.

_ Dancing _ might be too generous. More like grinding.

I have no right to feel annoyed.

But I do.

I hate that I do.

I hate what they’re doing.

My legs start moving.

I stand near  t he edge of the dance floor, watching.

I’m completely paralysed.

I do want to leave.

And I’m screaming at myself, in my head, to get out before I’ll do something stupid.

For a long while, he doesn’t see me,  enjoying himself.

He laughs at something she says and his head snaps backwards.

He leans forward to her.

He sees me. And freezes.

His face twists into several different emotions and settles on angry.

Nothing new.

He goes to say something to Parkinson.

He doesn’t acknowledge anyone as he stalks away.

Unsurprisingly, I follow him.

It feels like a fucking cliché that we end up in a bathroom.

‘What the fuck, Potter?’ is the first thing he says. It’s oddly reminiscing of the past.

‘Hello to you too, Malfoy,’ I say back.

‘Are you here for the entertainment or are you following me again?’ his hands are in fists at his sides.

I don’t even try to pretend. ‘I followed you, yes,’ I admit as I lean against the door.

I haven’t been this close to him for years and the proximity does weird things to me.

‘Scared that I’m scheming something?’ he asks.

‘No. I was just curious about you,’ I say and the words seem enormous in the small space.

He doesn’t say anything so I continue. ‘How have you been?’

He snorts. ‘Splendid.’

‘You look good,’ I note.

‘I always look _good_ ,’ he agrees and looks me up and down. ‘You on the other hand… .’

‘Oh, yeah.’

‘Beard and long hair. Hm. Don’t you own a mirror?’ he taunts me.

I laugh. Maybe because I’m tense or maybe because I don’t know whether he means it.

‘Don’t really care,’ I say. ‘What are you doing here?’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘I wanted to piss before you barged in.’

I wait.

‘It’s none of your business, Potter, is it?’ he asks.

I shake my head. ‘No, I guess not.’ 

I want to run from here.

Yet I’m frozen in place.

I’m afraid if I leave, I’ll never see him again.

I was doing _so good without him_.

This is torture.

I want to touch him. 

I want to stop being pathetic too.

‘Well,’ he gestures to the door. He wants to leave.

I don’t move.

He makes few steps forward.

Closer, I think. Closer.

He reaches out and I think he’s going to hit me.

His fingers end up in my beard instead.

I  can’t  breathe.

He strokes his thumb along my jaw.

And I don’t know what game we’re playing anymore.

I push away from the door.

His hand moves to the back of my head, where he tugs at my hair.

‘You look horrible,’ he mumbles.

I see his chest move quickly up and down.

I surge forward and kiss him.

I pull him closer by his waist so hard, my back hits the door.

God, it’s delicious.

_He‘_ _s_ delicious.

It’s like coming home.

Wow, I'm pitiable.

His fingers scratch at my head,  his tongue moves in my mouth.

I sigh into the kiss.

I feel him pulling away.

I hear him speak. ‘Potter...’ he wants to say something. Something that will probably destroy the moment.

So  I  take his face in my hands and kiss him again. More.

I think I’m desperate. But I don’t fucking care.

I lick into his lips and pull him closer still, so there’s not an inch between us.

So I can feel all of him against me.

He wants me just as much as I want him. 

I think. I hope.

This time it’s me who breaks the kiss.

I can see every imperfection on his face. ‘Let’s go,’ I breathe into his mouth.

‘What?’

‘Let’s leave.’

He looks confused. ‘Leave? Where?’

‘I want to take you to mine,’ I say.

‘Oh,’ the confusion falls. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Why?’ I ask.

‘I don’t want to...’ he halts. ‘Do you live alone?’

‘Yes.’

His gaze is intense.

He’s intoxicating. ‘So, are we going?’

He shakes his head again.

But  then,  with his eyes closed he  says:  ‘Yes, we are.’


	7. Surreal

I can’t bring myself to care that I did the _one_ thing I promised I _wouldn’t_ do again.

I can’t even hate myself for it.

I shouldn’t have done it, sure, and yet, I did.

I fucked him without a second thought.

And I _don’t care_.

Because that’s what his presence does to me.

It makes me fucking stupid.

I can hear his heart beating steadily under my ear now.

I’ve been in this position for about an hour and I still don’t want to move, ever.

I'm tired, but I don’t want to close my eyes.

I know that he’s going to get up soon, dress and leave.

Because that’s what we do.

Or used to do.

I don’t know what we do now.

I have my arms around him. My leg entwined with his.

I tilt my head up and see him looking at the ceiling.

His fingers absentmindedly tangling in my hair.

I bring my hand down, between his legs and stroke him there.

I wan to keep him here a bit longer.

‘What are you doing?’ he asks quietly.

‘What do you think?’ I mumble into his neck and keep my lips there. ‘I wanna suck you.’

I shift and kiss him on the lips.

I feel him getting harder under my hand.

I kiss my way down his chest and stomach.

I lay between his legs and bite the skin of his inner thigh. I might be a little harsh, because he gasps.

I lick up his length and take him in my mouth.

I want to tell him I miss him.

In the past I would.

But I know better now. Or at least I should.

Because I’m not sure it won’t escape my mouth eventually.

He comes, trembling under me.

I lick my lips and put my head down on his hip, the bone poking in my cheek.

His skin smells like… him. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s fresh and masculine.

I lay behind him, my nose in his hair. I just breathe in and out.

I’m falling asleep.

‘I don't have all day,’ he pushes back, into me.

‘Well, it's a shame then,’ I mutter and smell his hair again. It soothes me.

I don't move.

‘Do you want to fuck me again or what?’ he asks.

‘Yeah, I do.’ I yawn.

‘Maybe I should leave.’

I tighten my hold. ‘No, just a little while.’

 

I jolt awake, confused.

Sun shining in my eyes.

He’s here, his hair still in my face.

‘Finally.’ He put his hand behind him, takes me in his hand and moves his fist up and down.

I look down. He lifts his leg and guides me inside.

I do what he wants. What I want, too.

And it's different than the first time, frantic and quick and surreal.

Now it's slow and languid. Still surreal.

His skin is everywhere around me. Soft and rough and hot. 

His pulse quick under my fingers on his neck

He moans, such a sweet sound, and spills over my hand.

Few thrusts and I come too.

My thoughts are all mangled up. I don't even know what words are.

He starts stirring after a while and I know that's it. He's going to leave.

I unwrap my arms from around him, slip out and lie on my back.

He stands, flush on his chest and face.

‘When are you leaving?’ I ask, my eyes on his back while he's putting on his pants.

‘Now. It should be obvious, even to you,’he grumbles and looks for the rest of his clothes around the room.

‘I mean the country.’

‘On Sunday,’ he says and stills, like he didn't mean to tell me.

‘Do you, maybe, want to go to dinner while you're still here?’ He looks ready to bolt, even half-naked. ‘Or grab a coffee or something?’ I'm quick to amend.

I'm desperate to talk to him. I want to know everything.

‘I... don't think so,’ he says as he finally manages to put on his shirt the right way.

‘Why not?’ I demand.

‘Because, Potter. Why would we even do that? The two of us?’ He laughs, forced and almost hysteric.

‘So we could talk,’ I sit up.

‘We don't talk.’

‘Well, maybe we should.’ I get off the bed and walk  to him.

‘We can't talk to each other,’ he shakes his head.

‘We'll try,’ I shrug and hand him his trousers.

He looks at me then and grabs them.

‘We can go to some muggle place,’ I offer.

He snorts. ‘And why would I want to go to _such_ place?’

He thinks I don't know him. That I can't see and hear probably, too.

‘I don't care where, Knockturn Alley if you want,’ I throw my hands up.

‘I don't want anything.’ He is dressed now and looks me in the eyes with an angry expression. ‘You keep ruining _everything_ , Potter.’

‘How is us talking ruining anything?’

‘Because it's not what we do...’

‘So it will be!’ I interrupt him.

He narrows his eyes. ‘That's it? You say the sky is red and I'm just supposed to go with it?’

‘It's not what I meant and you know it.’

‘Do I?’

‘Okay,’ I sigh. ‘Please.’

So now I beg, apparently.

Great.

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

‘Please, would you go out with me to talk, whenever you choose, today or tomorrow, before you leave?’

I see it. He wants to say no. He is going to say no.

‘Okay.’

And it's so surprising that I don't hear what he says next, owl and place and some other words.

I nod.

God knows what I'm agreeing to.

His lips keep moving.

‘Yeah, okay,’ I say.

I still can't hear him.

There's something wrong with my head.

I wave at him when he turns his head in the doorway.

He looks at me, bemused, and leaves.

Well, that went great!


	8. Hopeful

I'm sitting on the fountain stairs at Piccadilly  with one full and one empty paper cup.

He owled me today. Message with a place and very specific coffee order.

He‘s late and I think he isn’t coming, after all.

I guess I should've expected this outcome.

I don’t know what I was thinking.

He didn’t want to speak to me.

And then when his letter came that he _would_ come, I was hopeful.

Now the only thing I’m feeling is resentment.

I'm such a dumb fool for hoping.

I toss the cups in the bin after almost an hour.

There’s no point in waiting anymore.

I should've left way earlier and not mope here like some reject.

He’s a fucking arsehole and I shouldn’t feel as angry as I do.

Because it’s no use and he doesn’t deserve it.

I’m not going to care, from now on.

I’m not going to think about him.

I’m not going to …

 

On Monday I look inside the file.

Japan.

Well, good.

The further the better.


	9. Peaceful

I want to drown in the bliss.

It was the _best_ fucking idea to extend the garden and put a pool here. I can’t really swim in it, but it’s big enough for just floating after a stupidly long day.

The water is so warm compared to the cold autumnal air ghosting my skin.

I can see stars if I’m looking up long enough.

Sometimes, I wish I lived in a desert or somewhere, so I could see them all.

I’m faintly aware I can actually drown if I fall asleep.

I feel utterly relaxed.

Something interferes with my calmness.

I don’t want to get out, but the sound is insistent.

I put on my jeans. I should’ve dried myself before.

Oh well.

I tense immediately as I open the door.

‘Good evening,’ he says, polite as ever.

‘What do you want?’ I don’t bother with pleasantries.

‘To talk.’

I snort. ‘You’re fucking hilarious.’

‘I mean it,’ he says.

‘You had a chance, months ago.’

‘I was there, you know? I saw you.’

‘Did you have a good laugh?’ He makes me so angry.

‘I mean...’

‘Fuck you, Malfoy,’ I start closing the door but he puts his arm between them and I want to break it. The door and the hand.

‘No, I didn’t, okay?’ he pushes against it and I let go.

He stumbles forward, barely avoiding a fall.

He straightens and he’s all red in the face, his lips pursed.

‘This is fun,’ he mumbles.

‘It’s not fun for me.’ And maybe I would enjoy seeing him fall on his face, but there’s nothing to laugh about now.

‘No.’ He pauses. ‘I asked Pansy about you,’ he says suddenly.

I’m confused. ‘Why?’

He ignores me and looks somewhere behind my shoulder. ‘I was very discreet, don’t worry.’

‘What?’ I shake my head, bewildered.

He sighs, like it’s hard for him to continue. ‘Remember when I threw water in your face?’ I nod slowly, barely remembering what he’s talking about. ‘You were mumbling that you were going to have a child and how happy you were.’

I stand there, looking at his flushed face. ‘I _don’t_   remember that part, but I wasn't talking about myself. As long as I'm aware, I don't have any children.’

‘Yes... Whatever, it doesn’t matter anyway now.’

‘No, it doesn’t. What’s the point in telling me, then? Was that why you left?’ For some reason, that infuriates me even more.

‘Don’t flatter yourself, Potter,’ he scoffs. ‘Of course it wasn’t. My leaving had nothing to do with you.’

‘Fine. Again, what do you want?’

He shuffles his feet and it’s so out of character that I forget, for a moment, who he is.

‘I have no idea.’ He doesn’t move an inch but looks me in the eyes.

‘Why didn’t you come?’ I ask at last. ‘When you saw me there?’

‘It felt wrong,’ he shrugs.

‘Why _wrong_?’

‘Because. I told you – we are not capable of talking, like normal people. We fight and yell, that’s what we’re good at.’

‘You just _told_ me, you came to _talk_ ,’ I shake my head and exhale. ‘You know what? You’re right. We’ll probably never be able to do anything beside fighting. No point in trying.’

I had such a nice, calm evening few minutes ago.

Now I’m mad and confused.

Silence. We just keep staring at each other.

I want to punch him.

But that would just confirm his accusations.

‘I... I’ll go.’ 

He closes the door behind him.

I hope my eyes burned a hole in his stupid head.


	10. Exhausting

I think I’m a good person.

Not because I’m the fucking Saviour or other crap they call me.

Sure, I did some stupid shit in my time, things I regret to this day.

And some other horrible stuff I don’t regret at all.

But overall, I’m a decent human being.

I deserve nice, good, easy things in my life.

I had enough heartbreak and mourning and tears and fear.

I don’t care for it. I don’t want it.

I want laughter and happiness and love.

I would never voice this out loud, because I fear people will judge me for it.

Because I should not complain, when so many people died for me.

I want to argue that I never asked them to.

That I never wanted anyone to die at all.

That I never wanted the fame and admiration I didn’t deserve.

I still don’t think I deserve it.

I can say whatever I want, they will continue to applaud me.

But I don’t want the noise.

I want quiet.

I want life that will be mine. To share with whomever I choose. Friends and family.

I don’t think I ask for much.

And yet, sometimes, I feel like it _i_ _s too much._

Like I’m yearning for something that is too great to even skim a surface of, let alone achieve.

And I know there are things I want that will never be mine.

Because they’re so far away. And so undecipherable.

I can touch them, but I can’t really have them.

And it’s tiring to want those unattainable things.

Because no matter how much I try, no matter what I do, they keep fading away from me.

And when they fade, I want to cry.

Sometimes I do. Because I’m sad and I’m angry and I’m ashamed I want and I shouldn’t want.

Sometimes I’m ashamed _I am_ alive and they’re not.

Sometimes I sleep all day.

Sometimes I stare at nothing.

Sometimes I laugh.

Sometimes I fly.

And when the melancholy leaves me, I want everything I can’t have all the more.

But do I really want nice, good and easy?

When he’s neither and when it’s _him_ I want?

 

Why?

Why can’t the life be painless?


	11. Carefree

‘Happy New Year!’

There are screams and laughter and glitter flying in the air, for some reason.

I don’t even know who I’m hugging anymore, there’s so many people.

I grip my glass and laugh and wish them a happy New Year as well.

The night is cold, but I feel warm among the small crowd.

‘You will have a great year, Harry!’ says Luna in my ear.

‘You will too, Luna,’ I smile at her.

‘But yours will be better, trust me.’ Her eyes are wide and twinkling.

I laugh. ‘Yeah, okay! I trust you.’

We clink our glasses and she moves to someone else.

There are fireworks in the distance and floating lights above our heads.

There is so much noise, voices, music. And it still feels soothing.

I don’t make resolutions. I don’t plan to make them this year, either.

I hope, like I hope every year, that it will be better than the previous one.

‘Happy New Year, mate!’ I hear voice shouting in my ear.

‘Mate?’ I turn around. ‘We’re hardly friends, Zabini,’ I tease.

‘Oh, come on! We are,’ he pouts.

‘Fine, whatever, happy New Year,’ I give him an awkward hug as he spreads his arms and waits. He’s a ridiculous drunk.

I don’t know how it happened, but I guess that somewhere along the way, we really became friends. Or friendly, at least.

He walks away and screams in Ginny’s ear.

I flop myself down on the nearest chair and finish my drink.

‘What are you doing, Harry?’ I startle when Seamus slaps me on the head.

‘What? I’m not doing anything.’

‘Exactly! Here, drink,’ he pushes a full glass in my hand.

‘What is it?’ I scrunch my nose as I smell the green liquid.

‘My own delicious concoction,’ he says proudly. ‘Drink up!.’

I do. And choke. It’s pure alcohol.

‘Oh my god,’ I cough, ‘disgusting.’

He downs his own glass. ‘Delicious!’ He finishes mine as well and starts tugging my sleeve.

I end up on the dance floor.

‘Harry! Finally, we’ve been looking for you. Happy New Year!’ Hermione kisses my cheek.

‘Happy New Year guys,’ I say as Ron squeezes my shoulders and slightly slurs his best wishes in my ear .

And then we dance.

And I hate dancing.

And I never want to stop dancing.

I want to stay this carefree forever.


	12. Uncomfortable

I’m swamped with work today.

I only leave the office to piss.

My neck hurts, my legs cramp and the words are swimming in front of my eyes.

‘Yes?’ I say as someone knocks.

I lift my eyes and  I’m nearly overcome by a feeling of déjà vu. 

And shock.

‘Good afternoon,’ he says.

Fuck him for being polite.

Fuck me for  being  pleased  to see him .

‘Do you need anything?’ I ask and drop my eyes back to the paperwork.

I hear the door click and  he  sits down.

‘Do make yourself comfortable,’ I mutter.

‘Yes, I will, thank you.’ 

I lean back.

I probably glower.

‘I don’t have a Trace on me anymore,’ he says casually.

I’m taken aback.

I didn’t know. ‘Okay?’

I hope I mask the surprise well.

‘How are you?’ he asks and his face tenses immediately.

It’s like he hates he asked.

I raise my eyebrows.  ‘Good.’ 

He licks his lips. ‘Good.’

‘What are you doing here?’ I rub my eyes. I might fall asleep right now.

I think it would be nice.

To not see and hear for a while.

‘It was my last visit to the Ministry. I will never have to report back here.’ His mouth moves in a constricted smile.

‘Good for you, then,’ I say, because I don’t know how else to react.

‘Yes,’ he nods.

‘Hm.’ Pause. ‘Anything else?’ I want this to be over.

I want to go home.

With him.

God.

No.

Alone. Definitely alone.

He’s an arsehole. A jerk and a git.

Yeah, much better.

‘I’m staying here,’ he says and his eyes are burning me.

‘In my office? No, I don’t think so.’

‘I’m staying in England.’

Oh…

‘Really? Why now?’ I pray I sound indifferent.

I don’t want him to know how affected it makes me.

‘My mother is lonely,’ he shrugs.

‘Mhm.’ 

I don’t want him to stay.

I will descend into frenzy again.

I will move in circles. Again.

‘I don’t get it. Why did you come to tell me this?’

‘I thought you would want to know,’ he looks up.

You thought right. ‘Why would I want  that ?’

If we’re playing a game, I’ m not going to lose.

‘I don’t know. You tell me,’ his stare is back on my face. He leans forward. ‘Did you want to know?’

Yes. ‘I’m not sure I care either way.’

His eyes narrow. He stands up. ‘Anyway, I thought it would only be polite, so there are no surprises in the future.’

‘You can go fuck yourself with that polite shit of yours,’ I mumble to myself.

‘What?’ he frowns.

‘You can go now, if that’s all,’ I gesture to the door.

‘I don’t need to be dismissed,’ he straightens and smooths his hands down his robes. ‘I am leaving.’

A moment passes in silence.

‘Why are you still standing here?’ I ask, when he keeps staring at the desk.

I wonder if he’s thinking about the last time he was here.

It makes  _me_ think about it.

He slides his fingers across the polished wood.

He watches me.

He smirks when I squirm.

I’m uncomfortable all of a sudden.

‘See you later, Potter.’ 

Striding away, the robes swish behind him.  



	13. Mocking

It’s not like he’s popping up everywhere now.

I barely see him. Except the occasional friend gatherings.

Because apparently, we share friends now.

I knew I should have never been nice to those people. It came back to bite me in the arse.

I should’ve stuck to my own house and not wander.

So when we see each other, it’s always amongst a group of people.

Never close.

Yet not far enough.

He smiles, he laughs, he _talks_.

The fucking talking.

He talks to everyone, telling them what he’s been doing while travelling, how many countries he visited, what are his plans, his favourite fucking food...

I wouldn’t call it jealousy, the thing I’m feeling every time he shares something new with someone other than me.

It’s disappointment. Resentment.

Because he didn’t talk to me when I _begged_ him. When I tried to coax any small information out of him.

I told him things. He let slip some.

I asked him things. He avoided the answers.

I pretend I don’t listen.

But I do, every word.

I see him looking at me.

I frown back.

I hate what he’s doing.

He’s mocking me with his sudden candour.

He’s laughing right in my face.

He never speaks to me beside the ever so polite _hellos_ and _goodbyes_.

I don’t bother speaking to him either.

Sometimes I don’t go to these meet-ups.

When I’m not in the mood for his fucking laughter.

And I know he would be there. He’s always there.

It’s all Zabini’s fault. He brought Parkinson. She brought Malfoy.

And just like that, the snakes multiplied.

I know it’s some kind of plan.

And I can’t figure it out.

He wants to piss me off.

And he’s succeeding.


	14. Loud

I can’t believe I’m doing this again.

I want someone to scream at my stupid face,  _Don’t do it, you idiot!_

My brain tells me to stop.

My body tells a different story.

I don’t know what I should listen to!

I want to stop.

Stop his lips, my tongue, his fingers, my hands. Myself.

But really… I don’t.

Because I don’t know what’s good for me.

And he’s so persuasive.

I know I’m not good at keeping promises I make to myself. God knows how many I’ve already broken.

But if this keeps going on in the same manner as always, I know _I’ll_  end up broken somehow.

I’m not sure how or if I could handle it.

‘Ron!’ The name brings me back to present and I freeze. ‘Stop, no!’ Giggles. ‘What if someone comes here?’

‘Don’t worry, no one will.’

‘Well that convinced me...’ moaning. ‘Oh.’

Thank god for Ron and Hermione.

But also, fuck them.

‘Fuck,’ I whisper.

He stills too.

His shirt is open all the way down, my hands on his chest.

‘Indeed,’ he whispers back.

‘I need to leave, I can’t listen to them having sex,’ I panic.

The moans get louder.

‘Okay, we can apparate,’ he says.

They’re even louder now at the other side of the maze.

Because that’s literally where I am. In the fucking  _mirror maze_  at Zabini’s bar or whatever it is.

Now that my head is somewhat clear, I think I can manage to stop touching him.

But then I look.

His lips are red, his face pink and his eyes dark.

I feel his hands. Back, under my jeans.

And every rational thought disappears.

Can I really say no to this?

I’m powerless in front of him.

So I apparate, hoping the damage will be minimal.

 


	15. Unpredictable

He left his shirt on my floor, crumpled, two days ago.

I have no idea how he managed to forget to put it on.

I admit, I smelled it. Maybe more than once.

Yes, it's sad.

Whatever.

I owled him. He said he would stop by.

He didn't say when.

So now it's just laying on top of the dresser, white and pristine, smelling like him.

And yes, I'm in it again.

It's so similar to before, yet so different.

He always stays till the morning. He didn't used to do it often before.

We write sometimes. When he forgets something or to arrange our  _meetings_. We didn't used to do that.

We go out. Sure, it's with other people and we never talk. But it didn't used to happen either.

I'm still salty about it. The silent treatment.

But I'm not going to attempt to change it anymore.

I tried. Multiple times.

I failed.

So now I just go with it.

Even though I kind of hate it.

No one knows.

Well, Hermione does, because of course she does.

I suspect Parkinson knows, too.

I wish no one did.

I don't want pity when it crashes down around me.

I'm getting ready to leave on an assignment with Ron.

It's been some time since we've been on one.

I step outside and walk beyond the wards.

I see him coming towards me.

'It is so nice of you. Welcoming me outside the door,' he smirks.

'Yeah, I'm very nice,' I say.

'Where are you going?' he asks.

'I have an assignment.'

'You said you didn’t do those anymore,' he frowns.

'No, I do, only not that often.'

'And where is this assignment?'

'Somewhere in Ukraine, I don’t remember the name,' I answer, although it's basically classified. I was never fan of the rules.

'When will you come back?'

'No idea,' I shrug and move, I don't want to be late. 'I have to go, I'll write you when I'm back, you can get the shirt then.'

He's standing in my way so I side-step him, .

I'm ready to apparate but he turns and his fingers grip my wrist.

He kisses me. It's quick but still intense.

'Do write,' he says under his breath, 'it is my favourite shirt.'

He then kisses my cheek and I'm so dazed I don’t realise he already left.

 


	16. Indecent

God.

It feels so good.

And it looks fantastic too.

I can't tear my eyes away.

His hair is damp under my palm from rain, darker blond.

I love his mouth and what he's doing with them now.

I'm still fully dressed and somehow he's naked from the waist up.

He roams my stomach with his hands under my robes. His fingers are fucking cold.

But it doesn't really matter, because I'm hot all over.

I come and he hums around me.

He stands, undressing himself.

I can't bring myself to move so I keep laying on the pillows, watching.

Only when he pulls down my trousers, I realize I'm covered in sweat and mud.

'I think I need to shower first,' I try to sit on the bed, pushing him away.

'Why?' he asks and divests me of the robes. 'We can shower after.'

'I stink and I'm dirty,' I say and try again to stop his hands from pulling the jumper over my head. My glasses coming off with it.

He leans forward and buries his nose in my beard. 'You don't stink,' he murmurs.

'Not there, maybe, but other places.'

'What places?' He licks up the middle of my chest, then moves down to my belly button. He looks up. 'These?'

'Yeah,' I sigh.

'I don't know. It smells nice,' he grins and licks some more. 'Tastes even better.'

'Gross.' And it really is. But it's also oddly arousing.

'Delicious,' he moves up again, lays on me and licks my ear. Inside of it. 'Maybe not this,' he whispers and I laugh.

I know he's smiling. I can feel it as he bites it.

I can also feel he's hard on my stomach.

I spread my legs and let him do whatever he wants.

We kiss. And kiss some more.

His hands grip my thighs as he speaks, his lips brushing mine with the words.

'You can never be too dirty for me.'


	17. Startling

I like his laughter, his smile. It starts guarded and then it’s wildly free.

I like his hair. The colour, the softness, the scent.

I like his voice, deep and haughty.

I like his eyes. They make me want to never close mine.

I like how he talks. He’s calm and collected and articulate.

I like when he sleeps. He looks like someone else, someone content and happy.

I like his body, the hard muscles and the soft places too.

I like that he’s smart. Even in that arrogant way of his.

I like that he’s changed. He’s not the same as he used to be. Still similar, but so very different.

 

I don’t like that he laughs with other people more than with me.

I don’t like how condescending he still is, for no reason.

I don’t like his eyes when they’re sad and cold and I can’t really see into them.

I don’t like he doesn’t talk to me as much as he talks to others. _Still_.

I don’t like the scars on his body, especially the ones on his torso. I hate them.

I don’t like his silences. I don’t like not knowing what he’s thinking.

I don’t like his face when he sneers, lies, when he’s mean and hateful. Usually towards me.

I don’t like when he wakes up. It means leaving. I don’t like when he leaves.

I don’t like what he does to me.

I don’t like I can’t let go.

I don’t like myself.

 

I think…

I think I love him.

 

… Fuck.


	18. Difficult

‘I think I’ll call it a night guys,’ I put the glass down and stand up.

I don’t feel that good.

‘What? It’s barely midnight,’ says Seamus and tries to push me back down to sit.

‘What can I say, I’m getting older,’ I shrug and say goodbye to everyone.

The fresh air hits my face as I walk and it’s better.

Until it’s not.

‘Hey! Are you going home?’ he catches up and walks beside me.

‘Yeah, I thought I’d take a little stroll.’

I can’t stop thinking about it.

The realisation hit me like a train.

I must be the most oblivious idiot ever.

Because i t’s been all nice and fun, the things we’ ve  been  d oing .

I never thought of it as love. More as a desire.

Or maybe I didn’t want to think of it that way.

It’s too much and too scary and it’s _him_.

But I still want him.

It’s difficult. Complicated.

‘Shall I come with you?’ he asks into the night.

I want him to, but then I can’t think when I’m with him.

And I have to think.

I wish I wouldn’t. That it would be easy just to be.

It’s not.

‘I’m tired,’ I say, not looking at him either.

‘All right.’ He stops. ‘Good night then.’ 

‘Good night,’ I say and walk further.

I  don‘t  look behind me. 


	19. Uncertain

It started as anger, I just wanted to release some tension and he was there.

Then I wanted to be decent with each other because we kept doing it and it was no longer as angry for me.

I wanted us to be friendly.

That’s why I asked him to talk, so we could get to know each other.

So we could stop hating one another.

Because that hate was always lurking somewhere in the dark.

Even if it was going further and further away, it was still there.

Waiting.

Well, obviously, it was replaced by something else.

Possibly worse.

Because how could that work? Between us?

I knew him before. I was there. I know his past because some of it is my past too.

I know him now, even though he probably has no idea.

Was I doing it all, because I wanted to be more than friends?

No.

I can’t believe it.

My head hurts. It’s filled with thoughts and images and noise and his eyes.

I don’t know how he feels.

Once I asked him if he still hated me.

He said he didn’t anymore. I knew he lied. And I still went with it, despite the knowledge.

Because a bit of resentment was in me too.

But he hated me with passion.

Hates me with passion?

I have no clue.

And I’m afraid to ask.

I don’t want to hear it.

What if he does?

What if he doesn’t?

Which is worse?


	20. Terrifying

I’m terrified every time I see him.

_I love you and it’s horrible,_ I hear in my head.

_I don’t hate you,_ I want to hear him say.

The words are burning in my throat now.

The wind is whistling around us. His hands around my neck.

I went out the bar after him.

I trust I was subtle when I announced I was going to the bathroom.

I grabbed him by the jacket and dragged him to the nearest wall.

He was startled for a moment and then he smirked. ‘Potter. It’s been a while.’

‘I didn’t notice,’ I said, ‘did you miss me?’

‘Please,’ he snorted and turned his head away from me.

I grasped his chin and kissed him.

So now I’m pushing him into a cold brick wall and I hope it’s uncomfortable.

He’s pulling me closer until there’s no more space between us.

I distanced myself for some time to figure it all out.

I didn’t, to say the least.

I’m just as big of a mess as before. If possible, even bigger.

Because I do want him.

Him.

With the arrogance and coldness, avoidance and snobbishness, past and present.

Good and bad.

It’s sickening what I’ve become.

‘I want you,’ I whisper in his mouth.

I hope he only hears lust and not how lovesick I truly am.

I feel a pull and we’re standing in his bedroom.

I don’t come here often anymore, what with his mother and all.

It’s strangely sentimental being here.

‘Yes. You can have me now,’ he says.

_But I want you all the time_ , I think.

And then I don’t think at all.


	21. Reckless

I’m freezing.

My face is burning.

This is truly hilarious.

I can’t move.

It must have been some really nasty curse.

It’s dark here, in the woods.

I have no idea where I am.

 

I went after the man, grabbed him when he apparated.

I never learn. I do the stupidest shit, without thinking first.

I feel like it’s already caught up to me.

It might be time to go.

 

I lift my head, barely.

I see him, lying in the snow and leaves, all twisted limbs.

At least I got him too.

 

The snow is falling on my face, slightly dampening the burn.

I like snow. It’s so magical.

I want to close my eyes and think about it.

I want my mind to be filled with snow.

I want the pain to go away.

Similar situations happened before. I’m fairly certain I’ll live through this one too.

I know they’ll find me.

I hope.

But the pain.

There was a flash. I think I screamed when it hit me.

It was agonizing, some kind of fire on one side of my body.

I tried to dodge it, with little success.

 

I’m flying amongst snow flakes.

They’re sparkling, blinding me.

I smile.

It’s so beautiful.

They taste good. Sugary.

I could eat a treacle tart right now.

And here it is, right in front of me, a piece flying in my mouth!

I open my eyes.

 

I think I’ll fall asleep soon.

Yes, it does seem like a good idea.

I’m so tired. Always so tired.

 

I can’t remember where I am.

My bed probably.

I feel the sheets under my fingers.

So soft.

I don’t know why are my eyes still open.

I close them and a thought flies through my mind.

A voice.

It’s fleeting and I can’t catch it.

I’m so warm and comfortable.

 

I’m blinded by a light.

White everywhere, shimmering.

I want to immerse in it.

 

Until it goes dark and there’s nothing.

Why …

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	22. Unplanned

‘Tell me the truth. Do I look ugly?’

‘Not too uglier than before.’

‘Ron! No Harry, you’re as handsome as ever.’

‘Should I leave or...’ Ron motions to the door.

Hermione pouts.

She just cut the rest of my hair that was left on my head.

I saw myself in the mirror this morning.

It was one of the first things I did after finally waking up today.

Burns and scars.

Right side of my head was without hair, only a light buzz.

The same for my beard.

I looked stupid.

They came as I was staring at myself, so I asked, without a hello, to get the rest off.

She practically screamed at me for being out of the bed and levitated me back.

I was never vain, but I hate how I look now.

I’m almost bald, with just one eyebrow.

The hair will grow back, the wounds will heal.

But still.

I was out for a week, apparently.

I feel so weak, so deprived.

I can barely summon a glass of water.

I want to go home.

But no, I have to stay here for observation.

‘The healers will take good care of you,’ said Hermione when I complained.

‘But I don’t want to be here,’ I was nervous. I’m always at unease in hospitals.

She slapped my unburnt shoulder, but it still hurt. ‘Don’t be a child, you’ll survive for few more nights.’

‘There are people outside, waiting to see you, but if you’re not up for it, it’s fine,’ announces Hermione now, cleaning my glasses and handing them to me.

Her eyes are wet, but she’s holding herself back. I'm thankful for it.

‘What people?’

‘Mum and the whole family, Luna, Dean… who else?’ Ron rubbed his face.

‘Practically everyone,’ Hermione waved her hand. ‘Don’t worry, they won’t all come at once and if you’re tired, they can come later.’

I am tired.

‘No, it’s fine,’ I say and prop myself up against the pillow. ‘Can I put a bag over my head?’

Hermione rolls her eyes. ‘Come on, no one cares.’

‘I guess...’

‘Yeah, no one will be scared seeing that hideousness,’ Ron points at my face and grins.

I try to smile back, but my muscles are tense so it comes out as a grimace.

He leans into me and hugs me with one hand. ‘Harry...’ his voice is suddenly unsure in my ear.

I don’t want to hear it. I know.

So I pat his hand on my shoulder. ‘Thank you.’

‘It was nothing,’ he draws back, his eyes teary, ‘you know I’m brilliant.’

‘You are,’ I nod, serious.

He smiles and stands up.

‘Send them in I guess,’ I look at the door.

‘Sure,’ she kisses my burnt cheek and I cringe a bit.

The door opens.

‘Harry! You’re awake!’ I hear all around me.

The noise is calming.


	23. Marred

I’m lying in the bath.

Several scars remain, still slightly pink, in my eyebrow, around my ear and on top of my head, on my stomach and neck, my back. And they will be there for keeps.

There’s a long one snaking from my hip to my ankle where the spell hit and then spread from there.

At least it doesn’t hurt. Much.

‘How brainless are you, Potter?’

I sputter and thrash, water flying everywhere. ‘Fuck shit! What the fuck are you doing here? How did you get in?’

‘It only took one Alohomora. And you call yourself an auror?’ he swipes the water from his face.

I stare at him, still in shock.

His face is blank, expressionless.

His eyes darting between my scars.

I want to dive under the water so he can’t see.

I rest my head against the edge of the tub instead.

‘Now the _Scarhead_ is indeed justified, no?’ I murmur, looking away so he has the full view.

‘I guess,’ he says under his breath. ‘I’ll wait in the bedroom.’

He closes the door.

Well I’m not going to run after him.

I soak a bit longer.

Long enough to hope he’s left.

No such luck.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, in jeans and a jumper.

I didn’t bother with towel, I’m naked and wet.

I see the exact moment he notices the scar on my leg. His eyes widen.

I turn my back on him and start to dress. ‘Why did you come?’ I don’t say he didn’t appear at St. Mungo’s once.

‘I knew you were home.’

‘From whom?’ I ask, putting on some joggers.

‘The press, Blaise.’

Oh, yes, it was weird when _he_ came to visit.

‘Hm,’ I turn back, ‘well. I’m going to sleep now, so if you don’t need anything else?’

I walk around the other side and climb under the sheets, putting my glasses down.

I look at his back.

I’m about to send him away, when he lays down on his back beside me.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask, leaning back on my elbows.

‘Getting comfortable,’ he says and closes his eyes.

I fall back on the pillow and turn on my side, away from him.

I’m too worn out to really care and I’m fairly certain he won’t kill me in my sleep.

I hear rustling and then I feel him behind me, not touching, his breath ghosting behind my ear. ‘Are you awake?’

‘Yes?’

‘Okay. Sleep then.’

I just grumble something.

No, I don’t really want him to leave.


	24. Forthcoming

In the following weeks, the  _conversations_  start to occur.

*

'I love pumpkin spice latte. It's sweet and delicious and I am not ashamed of it.'

'Are you sure?'

'Okay, I am a bit ashamed, but not so much as to not drink it again...'

*

'There was once such a horrible storm that I got so scared I pissed my pants.'

'Are you joking?'

'No.'

'How old were you?'

'Thirteen.'

'Oh my god! I can just picture it...'

*

'I hated living at home as a child.'

'What do you mean?'

'It smelled old and  wet, I don't know. I was rather outside, breathing a fresh air.'

'I didn't like where I was living either. But because of people, not smell.'

'Smell always kept me away, especially when it turned to rotten and bloody in time...'

*

'I used to pluck out the feathers from our peacocks' tails.'

'You were torturing your family birds? Not very nice.'

'No. But I wasn't exactly a nice child...'

*

'I cried when you first beat me at quidditch.'

'It sadden you so much, did it?'

'They were angry tears, dumbass. I hated you.'

'You _hated_ me.'

'Of course I did, you were  _Harry Potter_ , more popular than me...'

*

'I wanted to take the Dark Mark. I wanted it since I first saw my father's.'

'Hm.'

'And then I hated it. When the day came, I was fucking terrified.'

'Mhm.'

'Because it was a punishment not an honour when  _he_  burned it there, laughing like a maniac...'

*

'When I die, I want to be fed to a dragon.'

'What the fuck?'

'It is a childhood dream of mine.'

'What child dreams of death?'

'You are focusing too much on the dead part.'

'Okay, what should I focus on then?'

'The part where the dragon devours my body and then breathes fire. There would be a part of me, in the flames. Wouldn't that be  _so_  poetic?'

'Okay, I think your basic biology knowledge is lacking. The only thing you would be a part of would be the dragon's shit.'

'Whatever, shut up...'

  
*

'I hate scars.'

'Well, then you really must have a hard time looking at me.'

'I do. Because I know why they're there, that they hurt and bled.'

'Oh.'

'But I find them hot too. I'm sick.'

'I don't like yours either and I'm sorry, but I can't think of them as hot.'

'Are you saying they're ugly?'

'Of course they're fucking _ugly_ , I put them there!'

'I don't mind them anymore...'

  
*

'Who do you see when you look at me?'

'Is that a trick question?'

'Maybe.'

'In that case, I see a git.'

'Haha.'

'I mean, who am I supposed to see? I see _you_.'

'Yes, but who am I?'

'You're you! Or did you forget your name?'

'Sometimes I wish I would...'

*

'I loved my father.'

'Of course you did.'

'You hated him.'

'Yes.'

'Often I did too.'

'Love is stronger than hate. In most cases that is.'

'Let's not get sappy.'

'It's the truth!'

'I don't know. If I really loved him, how could I have abandoned him? Maybe the hatred won in this case. I just left and let him rot there...'

  
*

'I don't like treacle tart?'

'What? Why?'

'I find it gross, it's basically just sugar and nothing else.'

'You mean like a pumpkin spice late? Treacle tart is an ultimate dessert!'

'I like macarons,  _that_  is the ultimate  _delicious_  dessert.'

'Of course you like them, you snob.'

'Better a snob than a heathen eating treacle tart for breakfast, lunch and dinner...'

  
*

‘I want to try.’

‘Try what?’

‘Just… new things.’

‘Great.’

‘I hope it will be.’

*

I couldn't feel more pleased if I tried.


	25. Inexplicable

‘You know what I feel like?’ I murmur between kisses.

‘What?’ he asks, his hand on my back.

‘Pizza,’ I say.

He snorts. ‘You want pizza just when we’re about to have sex?’

‘Are we? I didn’t notice.’ I push him down on the sofa where he falls over an armrest.

‘Smooth,’ he rolls his eyes and drops one leg down.

I lay myself on top of him. ‘Will you eat it if I make it?’

‘I will eat _you_ , that’s for sure,’ he smirks, sneaks his hands under my jeans and squeezes.

‘Jesus,’ I groan.

He hooks his leg behind mine and licks up my chin to my mouth.

With someone else, I’d find it disgusting.

With him though, I find it inexplicably endearing.

I know, I’m beyond tragic at this point.

I open my mouth and let him in.

I start unzipping his trousers with one hand and he’s pushing his down my pants.

The sounds he lets out make me dizzy with want.

I want to feel his skin everywhere.

I feel him under my palm, my hand wrapped around him, hot and hard.

His fingers caressing and I want to rip off all our clothes.

And I’m so deep, kissing and touching and listening to his moans that I don’t register anything else.

Until he’s pushing me away suddenly.

I stumble back. He’s so red I’m scared he’s going to spontaneously catch on fire.

‘Potter,’ he says, his hands pushing me further off of him, looking somewhere behind my head, horrified.

‘What?’ I frown, looking in the direction.

I freeze.

Hermione. And Ron.

Why don’t I ever close the fucking floo?

Ron looks like he’s having a stroke.

Hermione’s shaking her head.

Draco bolts off the sofa, straightening himself.

I glare. ‘What are you doing here?’ I demand.

‘Aren’t we allowed to visit you?’ Hermione asks, incredulous, while Ron keeps gaping.

‘You could’ve at least called.’ I try to communicate with my eyes.

_Leave, please, I need to get stuff done._

Hermione narrows her eyes and looks at Draco.

He’s close to the door now, looking everywhere but her.

He’s about to flee.

I stand up. ‘Well. It was nice, thank you for coming.’ I usher them back to the fireplace.

‘Harry, what are you doing?’ Hermione hisses in my face.

‘Don’t worry,’ I hiss right back.

She takes Ron’s hand, whose expression did not change once and steps into the fireplace.

‘ _Malfoy?_ ’ I hear Ron’s whine.

Hermione just shakes her head and they disappear in the green flames.

‘So, where did we leave off?’ I turn around, smiling.

He shakes his head. I don’t dare to move.

‘They know,’ he looks up.

‘Yeah, they do now,’ I shrug my shoulders.

I honestly couldn’t care less.

Even if Hermione doesn’t approve and Ron might be furious when he comes back to his senses.

We’re staring at each other.

‘You should close the floo, Potter,’ he says. And it’s so loud in the silence.

I do it right away.

And then he comes closer and I do too and my arms wrap around him and his hands are on my face and I love how he’s looking at me and we kiss and I love him.

‘Didn’t you want to make pizza?’ he asks.

‘Mhm, after,’ I say in a daze.

‘After what?’ he asks, all innocence.

We don’t make it to the couch.


	26. Easy

I’m tracing shapes on his shoulder blade.

His breaths ghosting my cheek.

He doesn’t look as pained as usually.

I  keep trying to assure him  they won’t tell .

‘What are your plans for Easter?’ I ask him.

‘Easter?’ he yawns, ‘it is nearly three months until then.’

I wait.

‘I don’t know, it’s still far away.’

I guess I can try.

It's been playing on my mind since Christmas.

‘Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere?’ I say casually.

‘I am always going somewhere.’

‘Really?’ I ask.

‘Well, not lately,’ he fidgets.

‘So, how about we go together?’

And it’s out.

‘What?’ If it’s possible, he goes even more rigid.

‘I mean, if you want. I don’t mind either way.’ 

There’s a heavy silence.

‘Er, I don’t know...’ he trails off.

I feel dejected. ‘It was just an idea.’ 

I plant a kiss on his forehead and get up.

God, so stupid!

I splash cold water on my face in the bathroom to wake myself up.

He comes inside few moments later and places his chin on my shoulder while I’m drying my face with a towel.

He looks at me in the mirror. ‘Where did you have in mind?’

My heart quickens and he definitely feels it under his palm on my chest.

‘Nothing specific. Just… away. I guess.’

He kisses the side of my head where there are scars and hair doesn’t grow anymore.

‘Might be nice,’ he whispers and smiles slightly.

I turn in his arms and lean against the sink. ‘Yeah?’

He nods. ‘How long?’

‘I don't know, few days?’

‘Mhm. All right.’

And this is huge.

I want to make it a week. Or more.

I don’t know if he realises what he’s agreeing to.

He and I.

Alone together.

Some place unknown. 

For days.

I grin and kiss him, slowly.

I can’t believe how easy that was.

  



	27. Indiscreet

 

 

The next one is Luna.

She has a party to celebrate some great magical event that no one knows of.

We are making out behind the tree, when there’s shuffling on the other side of the tree trunk and a soft voice. ‘I’ll leave you to it then. Enjoy yourselves!’

She must have sat there even before I dragged him outside.

‘Fucking fantastic,’ he growls and throws his head back, right into the wood. ‘Ow!’

Surprisingly, she doesn’t bring it up once after.

 *

Three weeks later, he barges through the door and throws socks in my face.

‘Thanks?’ I say.

‘No. Thank _you._ Because of your utter stupidity Pansy found them in my room!’ He’s seething.

‘You didn’t have to tell her they were mine,’ I reason.

‘But I _didn’t_. They have your fucking initials on them, Potter!’ he screams.

I look at the red sock with golden letters. ‘Oh… Molly made these...’

*

‘You did not!’ Hermione gasps.

‘Oh I did! He walked with a limp for a week,’ Ginny laughs.

‘You are wicked,’ Zabini says appreciatively.

Draco sits beside me, which never happens.

It’s thanks to Parkinson who literally shoved him here.

He’s as tense as I’ve ever seen him, a false smile on his face.

I put my hand on his knee and squeeze lightly.

He doesn’t acknowledge it nor does he swat it away, only turns his head and talks to Pansy.

I take my glass and drink and that’s when I notice Neville on my other side, staring down, gaping.

I remove my hand immediately.

He recovers quickly and gulps his beer, his face red.

It seems no one notices.

I only feel Draco’s burning glare, confirming _he_ saw it all.

*

It’s only couple of days until we leave.

Five days in Iceland.

Draco chose the destination.

I’m still waiting for when he cancels it all.

He’s pissed off. At me, them?

I think it's my fault.

I’m being reckless.

I’m probably doing it on purpose.

Subconsciously.

I don’t care they know.

I want everyone to know.

 

 


	28. Pointless

I can't take it any longer.

I need it to be clear, for peace of my mind.

'So, what is this?' I say way too quickly, like I want to be rid of the words.

And I do, because it’s the last day here.

So far it’s been great.

Back home, the reality will hit hard.

He looks up at me and laughs.

Now I think that I could've chosen a better time to pose the question.

'I _think_ they call it a blow job, but I might be mistaken,' he says and pulls me closer to the edge of the bed.

I stop his hands on my hips.

He looks up at me, confused.

'No, I mean, what is this,' I gesture between us lamely.

And then his face goes completely blank.

'It's fucking, Potter,' he speaks, no emotion.

I know him too well now. 'You can stop this little charade, you can't fool me anymore.'

'Excuse me?' he frowns.

'You know it's not just that,' I shake my head.

He closes his eyes and sits on his heels. 'Why do you keep doing this?'

'Doing what?'

'Why do you need to talk about everything? Haven't I told you enough already?' He has this betrayed look in his eyes.

Like I made him spill all his secrets. 'Did you feel like I was pressuring you into talking?'

There's a long pause.

'No,' he says finally and I exhale. 'But you wanted it.'

'Yes and I want to know more still. Want to know _you_. Why is that so bad?'

'Because it's pointless. In time you will realise that I...' he halts midsentence, his eyes wide.

'Realise what?' I want to get closer but I'm too scared to move.

'Never mind,' he shakes his head and pinches his nose.

'No fucking way. What will I realise?' He annoys me so much sometimes.

He stands up.

I stand up too.

I grab his wrist.

He sneers at me. 'Let go, Potter.'

'No, _Malfoy_.'

I hate this. It's been a long time since we really came to blows.

'Tell me what we're doing,' my fingers tighten.

'I already did. Not my fault you didn't like it,' he says and tries to wrench his hand away.

'I know you didn't mean it. Tell me the truth.'

'Why don't _you_ tell me the truth, so I know what answer will please you,' he grits.

It's not what I imagined.

I'm so pissed off right now.

I grab behind his neck and push him towards me.

The kiss is almost as angry as the very first one.

His fingers digging painfully into my back.

I slow down and I let go of his wrist.

I hold his hand.

I kiss his cheek.

Can he really not see that I fell and don’t want to get up?

His temple is pressed to mine. Something throbs.

'You will realise one day,' he starts whispering, 'that you really despise me and that I'm not worth of your hatred. And I will be there when you do, because I can't let go.'

I’m speechless for a second.

'You know nothing then. I …'

‘Just… ’ not letting me finish he presses his lips back on mine.

And with the kiss, those words die on my tongue.


	29. Awkward

There’s a noise.

A voice.

But _why_?

It was so calm and warm just now.

‘Draco, dear, I’m sorry to just barge in, but I need...’

Silence.

I’m suddenly wide awake.

I want to disappear.

‘Oh.’ She’s looking right at me.

‘Er… Good morning?’ I say, my voice croaky. Because what else am I supposed to do, naked and afraid in her son’s bed?

‘Good morning, Mr. Potter,’ she speaks slowly.

Her voice is even and calm. Her face unreadable.

The door on the other side of the room opens and let in a cloud of steam.

He’s wet.

And naked as well, not seeing her.

‘I hope you’re up already,’ he saunters towards me.

‘I am _very_ awake, thank you,’ she answers drily.

He squeals and covers himself with his hands. ‘Mother!’

In different circumstances, I’d laugh.

She’s eyeing him sternly.

He walks over to the bed and grabs a sheet. ‘What… do you need?’ I see his face going redder and redder with each passing second.

‘Don’t worry, I will take care of it.’ Her eyes flick from him to me. ‘I expect you down for breakfast in fifteen minutes.’

She leaves, her robes flowing behind her.

I flop down on bed. ‘That was _awkward_.’

He glares at me. ‘Couldn’t you hide or apparate? What were you thinking, Potter?’

‘I was barely conscious!’

‘What’s done is done,’ he tosses away the sheet and walks angrily over to his wardrobe.

I stand up and move behind him.

I put my hands on his shoulders, down his arms.

‘What are you doing?’ he looks over at me.

‘I like you all wet and angry,’ I smirk and my palms still on his waist.

‘My mother is downstairs. And I am pretty sure she knows the purpose of your presence here,’ he takes a breath when I lean closer, ‘so dress yourself and be on your merry way home.’

I laugh. ‘I was invited to breakfast, Draco. It would be impolite to not show up, no?’

‘What?’ he turns around and scowls at me. ‘You were not invited. Now move and leave!’

‘No, I definitely was.’ I give him a quick kiss and start getting dressed.

‘No, no, no! You are not going to meet my mother.’

I frown. ‘I believe I’ve already met her, years ago.’

‘Stop it! This is not funny, Potter. You must leave. This should have never happened.’ He looks horrified and pained. ‘No, she probably thinks we’re dating or something!’

‘Wow. I thought you were smarter,’ I mumble and put on my shoes. I brush my fingers through my hair. ‘Do I look presentable?’

‘What? No!’

‘Well, it’ll have to do.’ I look him up and down. ‘Are you going naked? Or, you know, we still have like ten minutes,’ I glance down.

‘No!’ he swats my hands away.

‘Okay. See you down then.’ I walk quickly out of the room.

I hear him muttering and stomping around.

He can be mad all he want.

I’m not letting this slip through my fingers.

Even though I’m terrified and possibly way over my head.

Even though I'm fairly certain it will be excruciatingly painful.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, but I got really stuck on this chapter. I rewrote this so many times, and every single time I hated it, it was always way too sappy and cringe and just horrid. I am somewhat satisfied with it now, but well...  
> And I also miscounted the number of chapters, so there will be one more to come!


	30. His

 

 

I’m not tired.

But I would fall asleep.

Because I’m completely comfortable, listening to his heart under my ear.

Steady, slow, constant and so familiar.

‘I don’t dream,’ he says into the night, out of the blue.

‘I know. You mentioned it once.’

‘I _did_?’ he sounds surprised.

‘Yes.’ I move to lie beside him.

I brush his hair away from his face.

It’s dark but I can see him clearly.

He looks unreal.

‘Hm.’ He pauses for a while. ‘I wish I could.’

‘Yeah?’ His heart is quickening under my palm.

‘Yes. Because I know I… I would dream about you. Somewhere among the nightmares.’ He looks at me. ‘I _wish_ I could dream about you.’

I’m speechless.

‘Why?’

‘Because … I miss you when I don’t see you. And… I’d want to see you even when I sleep.’ His cheeks blush.

For a moment, my breath catches.

It’s unlike him, fumbling with words.

I imagine he would never say this in the light of day.

It doesn’t matter.

He’s saying it now.

Even if the words are different, the meaning remains the same

‘I dream about you,’ I say in hushed voice.

‘Nightmares?’

‘Sometimes. You’re falling and burning. I wish then I wouldn’t have any dreams...’

I always remember nightmares the best. All of them.

‘Mhm.’

Silence.

I can only hear wind howling behind the windows.

‘But then, there are also those where you’re up in the air, laughing, flying, carefree. Those where you touch me… That’s when I wish to never stop dreaming,’ I smile.

His eyes are shining. ‘Then you would never live.’

‘What if _this_ is a dream?’ I ask.

‘Then it is not mine.’

‘No.’ I close the remaining distance between us. ‘But it’s mine and I don’t want it to go away.’

‘It doesn’t have to,’ he says so quietly I barely catch it.

‘No? You’re planning on never getting up?’ I tease, even though it’s me who doesn’t want it.

‘Exactly,’ he grins.

‘Well, that’s a good plan.’ I kiss his cheek.

‘It is the best plan,’ he turns his whole body towards me and kisses me on the lips.

‘Of course,’ I murmur and draw him closer.

His heart is now hammering against my chest.

I’m not sure if mine is even beating anymore.

Several moments pass when we finally part.

‘I’m quite content here, you know? In your dream,’ he mumbles into my hair, his arm around me.

‘But you're not in it,’ I disagree.

He pulls away a bit and his face falls _almost_ imperceptibly. ‘What? I thought...’

‘ _You_ are my dream, Draco.’

His mouth opens and closes.

His face tints red once more.

He clears his throat. ‘Oh, well…’

I put my fingers over his mouth. ‘Shush, don't ruin the moment.’

We kiss again.

I whisper it.

And kiss him some more.

Again and again and again.

 

It’s mine.

Here and now.

It’s his.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is by far the sappiest thing I've ever written...  
> I hope you enjoyed!


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